


Two Sugars

by WridersRose



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WridersRose/pseuds/WridersRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The importance of coffee and courage when it comes to one pathologist's smile and one consulting detective's return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Sugars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afteriwake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/gifts).



> For the Sherlockmas gift exchange. Merry Christmas!

The first time they met, it was Molly Hooper's first day as an honest to goodness pathologist at St. Bart's hospital. It also happened to be the day that the victim in Sherlock's latest case was brought in - an older woman found in her own backyard, no blood or bruising on the body, but evidence of foul play in the house.

"I need the toxicology report on Eileen Young," the detective demanded as he stalked into the morgue, expression not changing even as he realised that the woman bent over a body was not, in fact, the usual one. His eyes slid over her, his focus distracted for a moment from the case to examine the new pathologist, then landed on her face as he held his hand out expectantly.

"Are you the head detective, then?" She asked with a bright smile, not cowed in the slightest by his brusqueness - that didn't come till later. "I'll need to see your identification before showing it to you, protocol and all," she hummed, busying herself with zipping the body bag on the table back up.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he pulled a badge with the name 'Gregory Lestrade' from his pocket, flashing it at her but not letting her get a good look. Dr. Hooper hesitated, frowning at the flash of Lestrade that she'd managed to see. "Are you related to the DI, then?" She asked cheerfully, holding her hand out for the badge, certainly not about to screw this up on her first day. Perhaps she wasn't as vapid as she seemed.

\--------------------

"Maybe we could get coffee?" It wasn't exactly the first time she'd asked him out, nor would it be the last. Sherlock had a room in his mind palace full of reasons why he shouldn't be interested.

"2 sugars."

\--------------------

The first time they spoke, really spoke about things that weren't related to a case, her words struck him, rubbing him the wrong way. "I don't count," she said. "I don't count," and yet she was the only pathologist Sherlock trusted to get it right the first time. Or at least, the nearest the first time.

"I don't count," and yet she understood his work was important, she gave him what he needed when he needed it. "I don't count," and yet she did.

"What do you need?"

"You."

\-----------------

The funeral was the worst. Molly stood near the back, trying to be unobtrusive. She shouldn't be here, she wasn't mourning Sherlock, not conventionally.

Mycroft Holmes had made the whole event a private affair, not wanting the media to run with this any more than try already had, and perhaps out of respect for his little brother. John was here, Mycroft and Mrs. Holmes. The DI was here, and Mrs. Hudson. That was it. Some people who didn't believe the papers had held their own sort of vigil the night before, mourning the man they still saw as great. Mourning, grieving, distressed.

John looked so lost... Greg looked guilty, as if this whole thing was his fault. Molly swallowed back tears, hugging herself. They didn't deserve this, none of them. As soon as it was over, she slipped away, politely and quietly declining Mrs. Hudson's offer of tea and biscuits.

When she got home with some groceries, she locked the door behind her and walked into the sitting room, not at all surprised to see Sherlock in the exact same position as he had been when she'd left. She sighed, moving sit on the sofa with Toby. "What next?" She asked, studying the man in her flat, the man who was supposed to be dead.

"I go after Moriarty's web," the man said evenly, looking at her for the first time since he'd fallen. Molly realised that he had, in fact, moved. His hair was wet and underneath the new Belstaff coat he'd sent her out to buy he was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. "I need you to cut my hair," he said stiffly, "and help me to bleach it."

Molly nodded, kissing Toby's soft grey head before pushing him gently aside and standing. "I'll find scissors," she said, worrying her lip before turning and hurrying to the kitchen.

She pulled a chair from her small table and set it in the middle of the kitchen, fetching the small box of hair dye and her scissors, along with a towel and all the supplies she needed for the dye. "Sherlock," she said, "come sit down."

The tall man stalked into the room, stripped of shirt and coat, and plopped himself into the chair. Molly flushed a bit, wrapping the towel around his neck and clamping it in place with a hair claw. She bit her lip, taking the chance to lightly run her fingers through the dark mess of curls, a wistful sigh escaping her lips.

Sherlock sat silent and still beneath her hand, quirking an eyebrow at the soft breath and shifting, turning to look up at her over his shoulder. "Do get on with it, Dr. Hooper," he demanded, though his tone was softer than normal. He hadn't even started the hunt yet, and he was already exhausted. John, Mrs. Hudson... Lestrade... Molly. He faced front again, frowning in thought as Molly set to work on his disguise.

With every clip of the scissors, Molly felt herself wilt and worry a little more. For half a moment, she'd thought that maybe Sherlock would just... Stay with her, until the whole thing had blown over. Now he was going off to... What? To take down the crime rings of Jim Moriarty? Of course, he wouldn't be entirely alone, Mycroft Holmes knew his brother was alive... That would help.

By the time his hair was short, blond and styled into something more modern, Molly had steeled herself to accept that Sherlock was leaving. She untied the towel, taking a slightly breath as she carefully moved it away. "You might want to shower again, before you go," she suggested, grabbing the broom to sweep up the shorn locks.

"No time," he replied stiffly, already pulling his shirt back over his head, picking up his new coat. He hesitated, sighing softly. "Doctor... Molly," he corrected himself, straightening up and studying her as she paused in her sweeping.

"Yes, Sherlock?" She asked, a soft smile on her lips, though her eyes shone with worry.

"I suppose what they say is true, about waiting until you're dying to truly take the time to live," he sighed, stepping towards her, around the pile of hair on the ground, and reaching to rest a hand on her shoulder.

She blinked up at him in confusion, brow furrowed slightly. "What do you..." She was interrupted by Sherlock pressing the Belstaff into her hands and leaning down to kiss her cheek.

"Keep this for me, Molly. You don't..." He hesitated, looking away. "I'm not asking you to wait for me, but when I return... Your support would be appreciated." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips, her fingers curling into the coat in shock as they kissed briefly before Sherlock was pulling away, stepping back, giving her a nervous smile. "I'll return as soon as I can." Then he was gone.

\------------------

It wasn't until two years later that the Holmes family once more made the papers.

"Detective Alive!" "Suicide A Hoax!" "The Real Sherlock Holmes Story!"

That, however, wasn't of any importance. The publicity and silliness would die down, surely, Molly thought as she smiled at the papers and their silly 'scoops', looking up at the familiar man in her kitchen. Sherlock was thinner now, a bit banged up and quieter... But he was here. She stood, pouring a second mug of coffee and giving the intruder a cheeky, broad grin. "Two sugars?"


End file.
